


Tense

by mariadperiad20



Series: Foray into B99 [34]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt Jake Peralta, Hurt/Comfort, Jake Peralta Needs a Hug, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Roger Peralta's A+ Parenting, Self-Hatred, dad!holt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:42:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29663994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariadperiad20/pseuds/mariadperiad20
Summary: “I will be there shortly.” Holt replied. There was a pause. Then, “Are you safe?”His voice sounded off. Jake wondered why Holt would ask - although maybe his very obvious, disgusting crying had something to do with it - and then felt, if possible, even worse. If Holt thought he was hurt, of course he would drop everything. He was going to rush over and then realize that Jake wasfine, and then he was going to be even more angry. Maybe he’d even tell Roger where Jake was-Jake’s throat choked on a whine at the thought, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn’t want to think about that, he didn’t want to think about that-Request fic!
Series: Foray into B99 [34]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1320137
Comments: 32
Kudos: 196





	Tense

“I can’t believe this is what you called me for.” Jake rubbed at his face, exhausted. He bit back the urge to curse at his father - it wouldn’t do him any good, he knew - and instead just put his hand down, looking around the room.

The hotel room was in disarray - unsurprising, given Roger had been the one occupying it - and Jake averted his gaze from what definitely seemed to be half a liquor store’s worth of empty alcohol containers.

“Look, son, it’s important.” Roger explained, voice definitely more slurred than a sober man’s would be. “I can’t find my phone charger, what if work calls me?”

Jake tried to sound parental. “They won’t, you’re done for the week. Even if they did, you’re too drunk to fly.”

“Am not.” Roger replied, sounding annoyed.

Jake fought the urge to make a run for it. Drunkenness and unhappiness was a dangerous combo for Roger Peralta to be in. Dangerous for Jake to be around, too.

“Okay, okay,” Jake tried to appease immediately, feeling his pulse skyrocket, his palms rapidly becoming sweaty. He felt slightly out of breath. “I’ll check over here, and you check your luggage.”

“I already checked there.” Roger didn’t sound particularly pleased - and instead just crossed his arms.

“Okay, well, maybe you- maybe it moved there.” Jake amended quickly, “Once we check that, we can eliminate it as a possible location.”

Roger rolled his eyes, but wandered over towards the luggage.

Jake went to walk past, stiffening. He didn’t really want to turn his back on Roger, that was a bad move. He knew he had to, but his shoulders and neck were tensing and he could feel his arms curling into himself automatically. He hated this, hated that he felt like he was about to be hurt - it was stupid, nothing was going to happen, he was an _adult_ now.

But, whenever he was around Roger, Jake just felt so… helpless. Like he was a child again. He hated the feeling, hated how quickly he seemed to slip back into his old ways of doing things. Being at the 99, working for Holt, being with Amy, all of it. He had grown so much over the years, but the minute Roger spoke to him it was like he was a child again, being screamed at over whatever innocuous little thing he had done wrong.

Oddly enough, this whole thing - looking for his father’s phone charger while he was drunk - felt so much like what he did back then that he couldn’t help but feel stupidly, pathetically _afraid_.

Jake forced himself to move past Roger, checking inside the dressers - Roger lived out of his luggage, never used them, but it was worth checking - and then behind them for good measure.

“It’s not in the luggage.”

Jake looked up - Roger had his arms crossed. The suitcase was unzipped, everything still inside of it. He suppressed a sigh, giving him a tight smile. “I can double-check.”

“I said it’s not there.” Roger replied irritably, “Just find my fucking charger.”

Jake felt his brain telling his mouth to shut up, to stop talking. Instead, he said, “Well I can check, you might have missed it.”

“I’m a pilot. I can see just fine, son.”

“Look, dad, just… sit down, okay? I can try and find it.”

“I didn’t ask you to try.” Roger uncrossed his arms - Jake could feel his anxiety skyrocketing as Roger seemed to only get more irritated. Please not angry, _please_ not angry, _please-_

“I asked you to do it.”

“I’m trying.” Jake snapped back.

Just like that, he knew what was going to happen. Jake was a cop. He could fight back. He knew he could, he _knew_ he could.

But around Roger, he wasn’t a cop. He wasn’t even competent. He was the same pathetic child he had been so many years ago, crying away because the world was cruel and his home was no haven from it.

Jake heard Roger move and didn’t so much as budge. Every muscle in his body was tensed, to the point that he was certain he wouldn’t be able to even blink if he tried.

Roger’s hand collided with the left of Jake’s face, his head jerking to the side. In an instant, Jake had backed away, halfway to the door, hands just barely up in self-defense. Some basic part of his experience, a part of Academy training that had managed to stick even now, seemed to move his body on auto-pilot, shifting him out of arm’s reach and attempting to protect himself - even if his arms were made of lead and all he could think was _of course_ this is happening again, he should have done _better-_

He could taste blood.

That shocked him out of his temporary loss of mental control. Jake pressed his hand against his lip, letting out a hiss of pain at the pain. His fingers came away bloody. He looked up, eyes wide, at Roger. Jake wasn’t breathing. Wasn’t even moving. He felt like he was frozen in place, even as a cacophony of alarm bells began to screech in his ears.

Roger was looking at him with something akin to guilt. Jake felt bad for a moment. He had upset his dad, it was his fault, always his fault-

“Son, I’m sorry.” Roger spoke. “I didn’t mean to, you were just being so-” He was raising his hands, probably in a sign of peace, but all Jake saw was movement and he swore he could _feel_ another hit coming.

Jake bolted.

Where that strength came from, Jake didn’t know. Maybe the fact that he had been hit - fuck, he had been hit - made it easier for his body to override his brain, jerking him into action even if some part of him still felt rooted to the hotel room floor.

Jake was halfway down the stairs when he heard Roger’s slurred voice calling his name from the hallway.

He wasn’t thinking - doubted he was even breathing, at this point - and dead sprinted the rest of the way, bursting outside and into the parking lot.

It was thankfully devoid of people, the cars all sitting dark as their owners got some well-deserved rest. Or, maybe not, given how he could still faintly hear Roger’s voice even from here.

Jake beelined for a poorly lit area of the lot, and half-sat, half-fell down behind a car.

He pulled out his phone with shaky hands, opening his contacts. He didn’t know who to call. Amy was visiting her family, Gina was halfway across the country, Rosa was doing “a thing”, Charles was having a cooking night with Nikolaj…

Jake realized that he couldn’t read his phone screen, his eyesight getting blurry as tears began to spill. He put a hand in his mouth, closing his eyes, feeling his shoulder’s shake against a stranger’s car as he hid from someone he wasn’t even sure was still looking for him.

Jake had never felt more alone than he did in that very moment.

After a moment - or maybe it was longer, he didn’t know - Jake forced the tears to stop, blinking rapidly and re-checking his phone contacts. Holt’s name was on his frequent contacts, and Jake tried to convince himself not to call it. It was late, he didn’t want to bother him, Jake could always figure something else out.

But Jake was glued to the spot. He didn’t think he could move if he wanted to. Let alone to get into a taxi.

He pressed the number.

It rang twice before being picked up.

“Captain Holt of the 99th precinct.” Holt’s voice was crisp.

Jake’s throat closed up. He wasn’t going to cry, he had just stopped, he wasn’t going to-

“Hello? Peralta, is this a pocket dial?”

“Cap-” Jake managed to get out, before he choked on a sob. “I- I’m sorry,-” Jake balled up his hand, slamming it into his leg repeatedly as he stared up at the sky - the light pollution obscured any hope of seeing stars. “C-can you… get me?” His voice sounded distressed, even to his own ears.

“Certainly.” Holt’s voice was even more clipped than usual - Jake could hear some movement in the background. That in and of itself was astounding, since Holt was a firm believer in giving a call his undivided attention, including ceasing all movement while a call is occurring.

Jake tried not to react to that - Holt was clearly annoyed by the call, since he wasn’t even bothering to give it his attention. Oh, fuck, he had crossed a line, hadn’t he? Just made it worse for himself. Jake felt more tears slide down his face, hot and uncontrollable. Even the skyline was getting blurry now. He was making everything worse for himself, he knew he was.

“I- neverm- ind, it’s- I’m okay, for- forget it.” Jake managed to stutter out, heart jackrabbiting its way out of his chest.

“Where are you?” Holt didn’t sound like he was asking, not really.

“Um…” Jake curled his free arm around his chest, “I’m, um, I’m in the Four Seasons hotel parking lot, by the silver Jeep.” Answering questions was easy, almost pleasant. Any distraction from what was currently going on was nice. “The one on Lincoln.”

“I will be there shortly.” Holt replied. There was a pause. Then, “Are you safe?”

His voice sounded off. Jake wondered why Holt would ask - although maybe his very obvious, disgusting crying had something to do with it - and then felt, if possible, even worse. If Holt thought he was hurt, of course he would drop everything. He was going to rush over and then realize that Jake was _fine_ , and then he was going to be even more angry. Maybe he’d even tell Roger where Jake was-

Jake’s throat choked on a whine at the thought, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn’t want to think about that, he didn’t want to think about that-

“Peralta?” Holt asked, sharply. Jake realized that he hadn’t answered the question.

“I’m fine!” Jake said loudly, before snapping his mouth shut - going perfectly still. He didn’t hear anyone moving, maybe Roger hadn’t heard him. He didn’t even know if he was outside. “I- I’m fine, Captain, sorry- sorry for bothering you.” Jake’s voice was thick, and he tried unsuccessfully to clear his throat. Whether that thickness was from crying or from the fear lodged in his throat, he wasn’t sure. “You don- don’t have to- get me, I’m- I- fine.”

Not that it mattered, anyway, since Holt replied with a simple, “I am on my way.”

Jake noticed that Holt didn’t hang up the call - possibly had forgotten to. Jake supposed he should hang up, then, it only made sense. Somehow, though, even though he knew that Holt would be furious with him for making him come out here, he didn’t want to be alone.

Jake stared at the brightness of his phone until it went dark, the call still transmitting but no light coming from it. He realized he was crying again - or, maybe he had never stopped - and put his hand in his mouth again, biting down on it to try to be quiet.

It had always worked before, when Roger was mad and drunk and looking for him. It would work for him now. Of course, if Roger _did_ find him, it would be bad - very bad - so Jake just kept still, kept quiet, tried to make himself as invisible as he possibly could be, pressing his back against the grill of the car until it ached.

He put his phone down on the asphalt, letting his hand scrape against its rough surface. It hurt, just a little, and Jake would have ground his hand down to the bone if only it would guarantee Roger never arrive.

Jake was so fixated on being silent that, when a shadow of a person cast itself over him, he completely froze. For half a horrifying moment, he thought - no, he _knew_ that it was Roger.

But then the voice spoke, and it wasn’t Roger’s slurred speech.

“Peralta,” Holt’s voice was a welcome one. “Are you able to stand?”

Jake would have responded - should have - but just forcing himself to look in Holt’s direction felt effortful. His entire body was tensed, and he kept trying to unconsciously shield himself from the perceived threat - keeping his shoulders up, head tilted down to protect his neck, arms stiff across his abdomen - even as he knew logically that Holt wasn’t going to hurt him.

Probably.

Not personally, anyway.

Jake ground his teeth as he forced himself to turn to face Holt, unable to make himself look higher than Holt’s abdomen.

“Jacob?” Holt knelt down, voice going… well, not soft, but it was the closest to gentle Jake had ever heard it. “Can you come with me?”

Jake knew it, he fucking knew it, Holt was going to take him back to Roger, that was what all the neighbors did, that’s what everyone always _fucking_ did-

He became aware of the fact that his breathing was somewhat ragged. Not hyperventilating, not holding his breath. Just… slightly out of breath. Like he’d been running.

Holt’s eyebrows furrowed. He seemed to be thinking - and Jake dropped his gaze back down to the asphalt. He idly noted that Holt was going to get his pants dirty from kneeling like that.

“Peralta, my vehicle is just past the SUV. I am going to return to it, and need you to come with me. I will drive you someplace safe. Can you stand, or do you need me to carry you?”

Jake nodded, then answered. “I can- I can walk. I’m not… yeah.” He almost said not hurt, but then realized that that wasn’t really true. The side of his face radiated with pain and besides, if he said he was fine, Holt might leave and if he did Jake was pretty sure he would never move from this spot again.

Jake picked up his phone, shoving it into his pocket, bringing up his other hand to set against the car as he got to his feet. Every muscle in his body hurt, borne in large part from the constant tension he had held - and was still holding - in it.

Holt eyed him with a wary eye - as if expecting him to fall flat on his face.

Jake didn’t want to walk past him.

They stared at each other for a moment. Then, as if seeing something in Jake’s averted gaze, Holt simply turned and led the way to his car, Jake following after like a lost puppy.

Holt opened the passenger door, then, without waiting for Jake, walked past it to get into the driver’s side. The internal lights came on as Jake slid in, fumbling to close the door, and then to put on his seatbelt.

Holt turned, as if to say something, but his face went hard. Jake stared at the floor, feeling Holt’s gaze drilling holes into the side of his face.

Holt started the car without a word, pulling out of the hotel parking lot and onto the street.

Jake sat in silence until he couldn’t take the ambiguity anymore. “Where are we going?” He asked quietly, staring hard at the dashboard - his body tensing up again as he spoke.

“I am taking you to a hospital.”

Jake jerked up, managing to look at Holt’s face - he was facing the road, so they weren’t making eye contact - but his face was dead serious.

“No!” Jake argued immediately, before flinching back into the passenger door with a thump - he shouldn’t have said that, he shouldn’t have-

“Peralta, you are injured.” Holt said simply, “I found you in a hotel parking lot. You appear to be guarding your abdomen. There is clearly something amiss.”

“That’s not- I’m-” Jake wrung his hands, “I’m fine, seriously. Nothing happened, I was just- it’s not- I don’t want to go to a hospital.”

Holt didn’t respond.

“Please don’t make me.” Jake said quietly after a moment, feeling his accursed tears beginning to well up again.

Holt sighed, then put on his turn signal. “Very well.”

“Thanks,” Jake choked on the word, “I- thanks.”

“I am not allowing you to go to your apartment, however. You will be coming to my home.”

Jake was about to protest, but Holt beat him to it. “The options are the hospital or my residence. There is no alternative.”

Jake shut his mouth, half-turning to look out the window, but so that he could still keep one eye on Holt. Fact was, Jake knew, if Holt were to pull into a hospital, Jake wouldn’t have the strength to turn and run. He just couldn’t. His courage had been left somewhere back in Roger’s hotel room, along with that stupid phone charger.

Jake was exhausted, but didn’t dare fall asleep - he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_ let himself do that - and instead counted passing cars until Holt pulled into a familiar driveway.

Holt got out of the car, and Jake followed after him. At some point during the ride, his shoulders had managed to relax a little, but now they were right back up around his ears as he followed after Holt. He wanted so desperately to just _run_ , but he didn’t want to be alone just the same.

Even if Holt was going to yell at him, or be disappointed in him, or hate him, at least Jake wasn’t going to have to be by himself.

Holt opened the door and entered, Jake following after him - gratefully, Holt hadn’t stopped by the door, and instead moved further into the house, so that Jake wouldn’t have to walk past him. Jake doubted that was intentional - as if Holt cared that much about him - but was relieved nonetheless, just leaning against the door to close it after him.

Holt gestured to an armchair, and Jake hesitated. It was close to the wall, so no one could sneak behind him, but he knew enough to know that being in a chair with armrests meant that he couldn’t get out of the way if someone went in front of him.

Besides, his pants were filthy, as was his shirt - both covered in dirt from the asphalt and car, respectively. Even his hands, he realized, were covered in a thin layer of grime.

“Is there a bathroom I can use?” Jake asked finally - hating himself for having spoken.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Holt nodded, “There are guest pajamas, as well.”

“I- that’s okay. I won’t stay in your way.” Jake replied nervously, the dirt turning into mud on his hands as they began to sweat.

“Nonsense. I cannot allow a guest to be in such disarrayed clothing.” Holt said.

Oh, of course. Jake felt his face burning. Of course Holt hadn’t meant for him to _stay_ in, just that he didn’t want him in the home tracking filth all over the place.

Jake ducked into the bathroom, switching out his clothes and wincing as his shirt seam brushed against the side of his face.

He washed his hands, twice for good measure, and then attempted to clean off the blood on his face. It wasn’t too bad, really, just a bit dripped down and congealed on his chin and bit of his cheek from what looked like a split lip. His eyes were red - it was disgustingly obvious that he had cried.

Jake found that he hated himself.

All of this, the crying and the tensing and calling Holt and freaking out and acting like a fucking victim, all of it was from something so fucking small and insignificant as a split lip. Well, and a bruising cheek, but, still, same thing.

Jake grimaced, looking away from himself. His shoulders ached from being so tense for so long, and he wished, not for the first time, that he had just ignored Roger’s text in the first place.

He wasn’t going to cry again - he sort of wanted to, but this time he was able to choke it down. Clearing his throat, he straightened out the guest shirt, before eyeing his dirt-covered clothes. Nothing to do about it now, he supposed.

He put them to the side, figuring he would leave them there - to avoid tracking even more dirt through Holt’s home - and re-emerged.

The sight of Kevin made him freeze.

Kevin was standing across the room, holding Cheddar, speaking in a low voice to Holt, whose arms were folded in front of him. He was in the most casual wear Jake had ever seen him in, informal slacks and a polo, and he realized with a start that he wasn’t just ruining Holt’s night, he was disrupting Kevin’s, too.

Kevin, who turned and looked at Jake with an appraising expression on his face, seemed to be unbothered by the development, and merely turned back to Holt, who was still speaking.

Jake wished he could hear what they were saying, but didn’t dare leave the door threshold that he was now glued to. So, he was startled when Holt said his name.

“Hm?” He made a sound, looking to Holt, who repeated his question.

“I asked if you were hurt, Jacob.”

“Oh, um, no.” Jake shook his head, careful not to lean against the doorframe. “I’m fine.”

Holt made a sound of disapproval, and Jake flinched, eyes flicking back down to the floor.

“I’m fine.” Jake repeated quietly, trying to keep himself still - keep from shaking. He wasn’t going to cry, he told himself harshly, he _was not_ going to do that again.

There was silence between the three of them, no one speaking. Jake because he didn’t dare, and Holt and Kevin because… Jake chanced a glance up. They seemed to be staring into each others’ eyes, and then Kevin was moving. He placed Cheddar onto the ground, making some gesture with his hand as he did so.

Cheddar turned around, padding over in Jake’s direction. He stopped in front of him, sitting down and staring up at Jake with gigantic, begging eyes. Jake hesitated, looking up at Holt and Kevin. They were watching him, and he made eye contact.

Jake tensed back up, staring down at the floor. Then mentally berated himself for being so reactive, all he had to do was be _normal_ , why couldn’t he do something as simple as that.

He heard footsteps approaching him, and Jake felt his breath catch. He forced his eyes up to see Holt walking towards him, and he felt almost nauseous - irrational fear spiking through him even as he hated himself for feeling it in the first place.

Holt seemed to see something in his expression, because he stilled. “I am not going to hurt you.” He said slowly, distaste coloring his tone slightly.

Jake winced - great, now Holt was offended. Perfect. He was really making this better for himself, wasn’t he?

He watched Kevin slip away, hating himself just that little bit more.

“Sorry.” Jake muttered, “I- I know. I’m sorry.”

“Jacob,” Holt’s voice was low, kind. “Can you tell me where you’re hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Jake replied stubbornly - or, as close to stubborn as he dared - crossing his arms defensively.

“Alright.” Holt replied - if there was disbelief in his mind, he was able to keep it from inflecting his tone - “Can you tell me what happened?”

Jake hesitated, then shook his head. “I- I don’t want to.”

“Okay, okay.” Holt nodded once, “Why don’t you take a seat?”

Jake wanted to argue - wanted to scream and claw his way out of this entire house, wanted to _get away_ and leave and never come back and never have to feel again - but instead he just walked over to a chair, sitting down.

Cheddar followed after him and, after a moment - and without an invitation-, jumped up onto Jake’s lap.

Jake looked to Holt for approval, but he seemed unbothered, so Jake allowed himself to pet Cheddar’s soft fur.

Holt took up a chair across from him, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees, folding his hands.

“Jacob,” He began, but Jake shook his head.

“Look, I know- I know that I seemed all fucked up,” Jake tried to explain himself, “And I’m really sorry to make you come all the way out to get me. And that I’m taking your hospitality. I’m not- I just got scared, okay? I’m not- I’m not actually hurt.”

Jake waited for Holt to get angry - to stand up and say, “Very well, then” and kick him out, wash his hands of this incompetent detective - but instead, Holt raised an eyebrow.

“Jacob, it is alright.” Holt said slowly. As if explaining something obvious. “I am glad that you felt calling me would make you safe.” There was a pause, as Holt seemed to gather his thoughts. “It appears to me that, regardless of your statement to the contrary, you are, in fact, injured.”

“Huh?”

“Your face appears to have a contusion.”

“Oh.” Face burning, Jake brought up one hand to poke at his cheek, barely wincing. “Yeah, no, that’s, that’s fine. I just- it barely even hurts,” He tried to explain, “I just- it scared me.”

That was a humiliating admission, but Holt didn’t react to it.

“What caused it?”

Jake grimaced, and didn’t respond.

Holt didn’t reply, either, simply waiting, expression neutral, for Jake to crack.

After what seemed like an hour of them staring at each other, the silence got to be too much.

“It doesn’t matter.” Jake said finally.

“Jacob, if someone assaulted you-” Holt cut himself off. He looked pained, “If someone were to have hurt you, it wouldn’t matter who they are, or how important, how powerful they may be, I would still support you. Do you understand that?”

“I know.” Jake said, “I’m not- not trying to call your character into question, or anything like that,” He felt ill again. One of Cheddars’ paws twitched. “It’s just- they’re not important. I got hit in the face, freaked out, and called you. Nothing else happened, and nothing else is going to happen.”

Holt had an expression of what Jake would almost call concern, but then it turned into neutral again. “Very well. There’s nothing that can be done for your face, aside from some ice. Are you positive that there are no additional injuries to your person?”

“Yeah, I’m-” Jake paused, thinking. His back hurt, from where he’d pressed against the sharp car grill, but he didn’t really want to take his shirt off, so, after a moment, answered, “Yeah, I’m all good.”

Holt didn’t look like he bought it, but thankfully didn’t press the issue. For now, anyway.

“I will return with an ice pack.” Holt said, standing, and politely pretending not to notice how Jake tensed up at the motion.

Cheddar, as if sensing his stress, nuzzled Jake’s hand, insisting on more scratches.

True to Holt’s word, he returned quickly, handing Jake a wrapped cloth.

Jake pressed it against his face - he wanted to argue against using it, but knew enough to know that the quicker he got the ice on, the less bad the bruising would be in the long-term - and Holt sat back down.

“Now, then, where else are you injured?”

Jake frowned. “I’m… not?”

Holt merely raised an eyebrow.

Jake shifted in the chair, uncertain. After another brief staring contest, Jake acquiesced. “I scraped my back, pressing up against the car. It doesn’t even hurt!” He added quickly, seeing Holt make to stand, “Seriously, I’m fine.”

“Either I inspect your injury or I will drive you directly to the hospital.” Holt said firmly.

Jake caved, picking up Cheddar and depositing the dog onto the floor - where he stared up at Jake with a forlorn expression - before standing up. “It’s not a big deal.” He said again, even as he turned around and lifted up the back of his shirt. He didn’t like having his back to anyone, even now. Even Holt.

Holt was silent.

“See?” Jake said uncomfortably, “It’s barely even a scratch.”

What caused these?” Holt asked, voice sounding… off.

“I already said, it was just the car grill, I was pressing back to har-”

Holt’s hand was on his back, on the middle towards the right. Directly on what Jake knew was a relatively massive, extremely old scar. If he remembered properly - which, of course he fucking did, he could never forget something like that, it was etched into some part of his very being - Roger had shoved him down and he had fallen onto an alcohol bottle. The worst of it all was that, at the time, even with his blood spilling across the floor, Jake had only been grateful. Grateful that the bottle had been empty - because Roger would have been even angrier if he had broken one that had some drink left in it.

He hadn’t been able to reach it himself to patch it up, and Roger didn’t bother to take him to the hospital, so it hadn’t healed up quite right - the scar had lingered indefinitely. Jake wasn’t sure if Roger didn’t remember it happening, or maybe he just didn’t care, but he never mentioned it. Maybe it was guilt.

Maybe it didn’t matter why.

Jake flinched forward, hard, losing his balance and nearly faceplanting. He stumbled a few steps away, tugging his shirt down faster than he ever had, turning to face Holt - he didn’t want his back to him, couldn’t have his back to him. He knew his expression was a sort of wide-eyed, scared look, rather than the glare like he had been trying for.

“Jacob,” Holt’s expression was momentarily emotional - revealing that, yeah, Holt was actually concerned, weird - and, oddly, Holt made no attempt to conceal it.

“There, you saw the scratches, see, they aren’t too bad, you can leave them be. Please.” Jake added the last word as an afterthought. He had dropped the ice pack during his hurry, and he bent down to pick it up, giving Cheddar a pat as he rose back up, placing it against his face again.

Holt had the strangest look on his face that Jake had ever seen.

“I apologize, Jacob.” He said seriously, “I did not mean to startle you. My curiosity led me to act out of turn. I should not have done that.”

Jake blinked. Oh, that was the expression - it was guilt.

“It’s fine.” He said after a moment - although Holt didn’t look particularly appeased. “Just, leave it alone, yeah?”

“Very well.” Holt replied quickly, “Please, feel free to sit back down. I will acquire you a beverage.”

“Oh, that’s alright. I’m going to be heading out soon anyway.” Seeing Holt’s expression, Jake added, “Right?”

“If that is what you want.”

Jake hesitated. He didn’t _want_ to leave. He didn’t _want_ to go back to his empty apartment and be lost in his own thoughts. He didn’t _want_ to be alone. But it didn’t matter what he wanted, it never did.

“Are you alright, Jacob?” Holt asked, frowning more heavily - Jake realizing he, once again, had not responded.

“I guess… I guess I don’t want to leave right now.” Jake said finally, embarrassed - it was pathetic how quickly he had latched onto Holt. A moment of parental kindness - which, considering Holt’s upstanding nature, he probably viewed as obligatory - was enough to make Jake completely abandon whatever his last bit of self-respect. As if he hadn’t lost all of that the moment he had called Holt in the first place.

Holt seemed unbothered. If anything, he seemed almost _pleased_ , which confused Jake to no end.

“I will inform Kevin of your staying with us.” He said, standing up, “Feel free to make yourself comfortable, son.”

Something in Jake’s brain _snapped_. He was aware of Holt, standing in front of him. He was aware that Holt had said the word ‘son’, in reference to him. He was even aware that Cheddar was half-asleep on his lap.

Jake _knew_ all of that, objectively, for a fact.

But for some, stupid reason, his body didn’t give a fuck.

He was aware of Holt moving towards him, kneeling down beside him and speaking. He was aware of Cheddar shifting, standing up and trying to nudge at his hand - which had gone completely still.

All he could hear was ringing - Holt’s mouth was moving but Jake couldn’t hear a word of it. He could have been screaming, and Jake still wouldn’t have been able to understand a word.

Jake became aware of the fact that he was not breathing.

He figured he probably should be breathing. But he couldn’t seem to quite make himself do so.

Jake’s vision was turning spotty, and it sort of hurt. Holt’s face was getting blurry - Jake couldn’t tell if that was from oxygen deprivation, or if he was crying again.

He punched out a startled, gasping laugh at that - of _fucking_ course he was crying again, how pathetic - and, just like that, his lungs were unfrozen.

He couldn’t draw breath in. Each time he tried to inhale, the air was shoved out of his lungs just as quickly by some uncontrollable force.

Jake closed his eyes, not wanting to see Holt’s worried expression any longer, trying desperately to ground himself with the feel of Cheddar’s fur under his hands, the guest pajama pants sticking to his legs, the press of the chair against his back, even the pain radiating from the side of his face… but all of it was being drowned out by this sudden, uncontrollable emotion akin to panic.

Or maybe it was fear.

He couldn’t even _think_.

Jake was trying to pull himself together - really, he was - and, after some unknowable extent of time, he began to slowly gain control of his breathing. It was still too fast, but it was there. He gasped in shuddering breaths, hating how suddenly difficult it was. His entire body felt too hot, and the sensation of sweat on his back made the scratches on it itch horrifically.

As Jake began to pull himself together, he began to hear Holt’s voice. Not quite enough to understand the words he was saying, but his tone was the gentlest Jake had ever heard it.

The realization that Holt had seen him freak out like this was almost enough to send him back over the edge. For half a moment, he was warring with himself - body wanting to send him back over the edge into panic - before he was able to harshly yank himself back into safety.

Jake gave himself a few more moments, letting his breath settle back to as normal a pattern as he could manage at the moment - his heart was still racing, but at least he was breathing again, so he couldn’t complain - before opening his eyes.

His vision swam, and he brought up one hand to rub at his eyes, blinking repeatedly. His entire face felt much too warm - embarrassment at himself making it go red.

Holt had moved back - giving him space - but seemed to be shifting his weight, as if wanting to approach but not quite willing to.

“I’m sorry.” Jake said shakily - and fuck, if he hadn’t been saying that nonstop since he got here. “I’m- I’m sorry.”

“Peralta,” Holt said levelly - and his voice was very neutral, now, there was no tone to it at all - “There is no need to apologize. I startled you, it is my responsibility.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jake muttered, “I- I freaked out. I’m so sorry-” He felt like he was going to be sick, just from the sheer humiliation of it all.

“Very well. It is neither of our faults, then.” Holt said simply.

Jake chanced a glance, and saw that Holt’s expression looked annoyed. He supposed that, if he was braver, he’d ask Holt what - or who - was going through his mind. If it was him irritating Holt - who else could it be, after all?

As it was, he was a coward. So instead, Jake just pet Cheddar again - at least the dog seemed thankfully oblivious to the entire situation - and swallowed back everything he wished he could say.

It wouldn’t do him any good, anyway.

Holt seemed to dither for a moment, clearly unsure if he should approach Jake again or not, and instead opted to change the subject.

“Would you like to rest? I expect you are quite tired.”

Jake hesitated. He was tired, truly, but some part of him felt… weird, about sleeping here. He had already infringed so much on their goodwill, and having a fucking panic attack in the living room didn’t really make him feel better about it.

Holt seemed to see something in his expression, because he spoke again. “I know that Kevin would not mind. Additionally, I would prefer not to drive at this time of night, as visibility is down significantly.”

“Oh, uh, okay.” Jake didn’t want to inconvenience Holt, and he didn’t have his wallet with him so it’s not like he could get a taxi. Not without asking Holt - which would be super awkward.

“Excellent.” Holt sounded slightly pleased - or maybe it was relieved? Jake couldn’t tell - and gestured down the hall. “I will show you to the guest room.”

Jake followed Holt - and Cheddar followed him - until they got to the door. Jake entered it, and Holt paused by the door.

“Jacob,” Holt’s voice was carefully kind, even as the light showed the exhaustion lines around his eyes, “It is imperative that you know I appreciate your having called me. I am… honored, that you trusted me in your time of need.”

Jake nodded. “Well, yeah, of course. You’re my Dadptain.” He tried for a grin.

Holt merely nodded, expression unreadable. “Goodnight, Peralta.”

“‘Night.” Jake said, as Holt closed the door. He turned around towards the bed, pausing for a moment as he noticed that Cheddar had - even in his tiny form - spread out across the majority of said bed.

Jake rolled his eyes, managing to scoot his way on. Exhaustion hit him like a truck the moment he laid down, and he barely had the mental power to kick off one of his shoes before he was completely out.

His last thought before sleep claimed him was that Holt always seemed to know what to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Total requests: _hi! ik you probably have a few requests for this kinda thing already but i was wondering if i could request another “jake shows up at holt and kevin’s house after his dad has been Shitty and they take care of him” fic? maybe jake acting like it’s no big deal and being like “it’s fine i’ve had worse” and kevin and holt are just... horrified. also perhaps them helping him cope with dissociation/aftermath of a traumatic situation? (tysm, these fics are literally getting me through quarantine/This Year & i love your writing so much!!)_ and _Firstly, your foray into B99 gives me life, every fic is phenomenal!! I'd like to request more dad!Holt. I can kinda imagine Jake asleep on his couch in his office?? Basically just Holt and jake angst pretty please_ Thank you for your requests! <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this fic (I enjoyed writing it)! It's my longest one-shot to date :D
> 
> if you have a fic request, please send it to my tumblr! I don't take requests from ao3 comments because it's too hard to track them + i don't want to lose requests to the void + it overwhelms my inbox <3


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